Woven into the songs of April Moon, Amy-Jo and Vic Allen are aspects of love that intertwine. Released on the same day, they speak across the generations to form a picture of the dreams, desires and pressures of the everywoman.
Starting on a Saskatchewan farm, ‘Uptown Lady Life’ tells the story of a young girl whose aspirations stretch to the simple but symbolic purchase of a fur coat. Inspired by Jaime from April Moon’s grandmother, this neotraditional country tune transports the listener right back to its rural life setting. We find the protagonist struggling to make ends meet, racking up the bills with successive poor harvests. It leads her and her husband with little choice but to sell up – an opportunity perhaps to move to the city for a better life. Needless to say, it doesn’t work out. But even against a backdrop of endless work (both in a factory and at home), the whimsical and upbeat guitar riffs represent her eternal optimism for social advancement. It is a really affectionate portrait that April Moon depict.
By her own admission, Amy-Jo offers a highly-romanticised version of this era in ‘Love Before the Internet’. It isn’t without its nod to economic insecurity but the girl’s “modest pay for part-time work in a village café” is mixed with contentment. Like her last single, ‘Young, In Love, and Broke’, the pressures of daily life can be overcome by the presence of love in a strong relationship. What’s more, this love seems to be enough, in contrast to the prayers of the protagonist in April Moon’s story for something more. Delivered in her typically-intimate and stripped back style, Amy-Jo still paints a colourful picture of pre-internet meet-ups and real-world interactions that were often limited to “the fifteen miles around their town”. Compare this to a plethora of dating apps now connecting us across the globe, and she succeeds in championing the supposed simplicity of a bygone era. The exhaustive exhale on the final word of the song’s bridge only adds to the irony of modern-day technology. Social media, as we’re finding out, is not always positively progressive.
Vic Allen highlights one of the problems of social media in today’s society. ‘Wake Up Pretty’ is a suitably poignant and relatable track which powerfully expresses the dark side of our image-conscious world. She outlines the “flawless” and “airbrushed” figures found whilst scrolling through ourfeeds and, against a backdrop of achingly emotional guitar strings, reveals their devastating impact. Idealism and comparison are the enemies. Low self-esteem and body consciousness their effects. The dream of a fur coat seems almost childlike in this context, even as it speaks back to fashion as a means of social validation. Here, the physical body too is at stake. “Too tall, too thin / we just can’t win”, says Allen, and “it makes me question who I should be”. It captures in all seriousness how unattainable perfection sets a standard that inevitably chips away at our own identity. But for all its brutal truth, the chorus remains hopeful of a day when “I’ll take off my make-up and wake up pretty”.
Welsh Country artist Caitlin Mae retains the rock and ratchets it up on her latest single. ‘Mr Moving On’ contains more than a streak of what has become her signature sound. This is a production with plenty of electric guitar and heavy drumbeat. Instruments that speak to a narrative of regret. This is a case of girl-meets-boy but true feelings are submerged until “He couldn’t wait any longer for me to admit it”. Contained within, in true Caitlin Mae fashion, is a positive spin. Whether it be knowledge, wisdom, or inspiration gained for “this song”, not all is lost even as love turns up too late. Not least musically, on a track which has much greater finesse than previous. No doubt a result of her re-location to Nashville. Further evidence that she continues to grow into an artist worth watching out for.
It feels like See Emily Play is breathing new life into the alt-country scene. If it’s not the quirkily-named single ‘Yoko Ono was Seven Years Older than John’, then it’s the unconventional musicality of ‘What the Hell is BDD’. I say this because the subject of mental health is so often accompanied by reflective or balladeering tones. Yet here, her new single is punctuated with the rapid and rocky sounds of contemporary bluegrass. What results is a refreshing and fascinating take on the subject of body image. More specifically, it chronicles her experience with body dysmorphic disorder, from “a comment overheard” to “approximately thirty-six fucking months since I felt like me”. The chaotic rhythm of the song is at once delightful and unnerving, as Emily plays with expectations to arrive at a sincere truth. She once again does so via an unexpected path. One that, despite the entertainment, doesn’t lose the more serious message beneath.
‘What the Hell is BDD’ will be released on November 1st 2024, when it can be heard on most streaming platforms, including Spotify.
The title of Katie Nicholas’ new single has become hauntingly relevant. The story of ‘You Kill Me’ is about forbidden love but it takes on a more sinister meaning in the context of its release. It almost didn’t see the light of day this week due to a technical error, exposing the dark side to a faceless and automated music industry. How this affects the mental health of artists has been brought firmly into the spotlight by Katie. It is in many ways a far cry from the laid-back musings of the track’s pedal steel. Its acoustic rendering is classic Americana, containing a hint of whimsical Folk that has followed from her most recent EP, ‘Feather‘. The addition of Robert Vincent on vocals shapes the narrative’s languid despair. “You hurt me in the softest way” sums up the overall feeling of the music. Sadly, Katie’s real-life experience has been a lot more severe. In a landscape domineered by streaming giants and selfish algorithms, ‘You Kill Me’ is, like so much music today, at the mercy of these gatekeepers. But to those at the grassroots, her determination to persevere and share her latest creation is a sign of hope-filled rebellion.
You can follow Katie’s story on her Instagram. To purchase the single, visit her page on BandCamp.
‘Honeymilk and Heavy Weather’ are two facets that deftly describe the light and dark of Rona Mac’s latest collection of work. Hers is an album written from the depths of a soul versed in the tragic grief and fragile beauty of life. Dedicated to a friend who took her own – Emily Victoria Hemingway – a few years ago, Rona unashamedly explores the complexity of emotions that arise whilst weaving them into a larger tapestry of friendships. The result is tear-stained, arresting, and life-affirming.
The theme of water runs throughout. It is a rushing river that opens the record which slowly gives way, on ‘Seafront Room’, to voice-notes atop a Latinised guitar. It is an understated piece in both its music and lyricism. A sense of foreboding becomes increasingly present. “It’s about time we talked” represents the pivot upon which a conversation around mental health starts.
‘Afon Cleddau’, with its playful Rootsy twang, seems to present its waters in a healing way. The song invites them to “come on close / you’re what she needed the most”. Words which take on a far more complex meaning later on. For now, the touch of water on skin echoes the sensuality of ‘Body’, caught lovingly in the line “I’m seeing with my eyes shut”. The delicacy of the piano keys also captures an intimacy that speaks to something bigger than oneself. Such expansive contemplation is continued into ‘Brothers in Mud’, a song so good as to offer multiple interpretations even as a sense of unity in communal love underpins it. It is the first in a series of moments when tears emerge, as Rona gives the ordinary an affecting power. “This table was an island / your garden was freedom” speak to a safety and security that slowly slip away with the harsh realities of life. Not that they disappear completely, as the happiness and joy in the verbatim recordings of its final 30-seconds illustrate. But they mix to give a far more intricate picture of what it means to be human.
‘Wdig’, a town in Pembrokeshire where “the streets are just ghosts / and I find myself in the dark”, transposes this human element into a sense of place. It captures brilliantly how geography can influence our stories and memory. At the same time, how music is shaped by the landscape that surrounds. Akin to the likes of Georgia Ruthand Jodie Marie, there is something ethereal that sweeps in from the West coast of Wales to become embodied in the musicality of Rona Mac’s sound. Add the pain prevalent in the best of Country Music’s songwriting simplicity and what comes across is another poignant moment, perhaps summed up in the lines “friendships… remind me that life gets hard… / I just wish we could all sit round the table and go back to the start”.
It is here that the album cranks up the pathos. A single line in ‘Sense’ – “when you chose a world without you in it” – is enough to bring me to tears and draw afresh my own grief. Meanwhile, ‘And Then They Found Her’ presents a more matter-of-fact but no less visceral take on mental health. A fierce polemic underwritten by an understated soundtrack, it takes aim at a broken and dehumanising system much like ‘The Poet’ by Katie Nicholas. It is Mac at her quietly seething best – sorrow and despair mixing with dark irony, like in W.O.M.A.N and Polidics. In between, ‘showmehowyoumourn’ places an emphasis on the spoken word, which through an endearing acoustic arrangement gleans a series of fascinating questions and thoughts to give yet another dimension to the album’s primary topic.
To end, Rona Mac chooses a suitably Folksy arrangement. ‘Buttercup’ is a sign of hope as much as acceptance of the temporal nature of our relationships. The two sides of the human coin remain present – life and death “cruelly entwined” – but there is a quiet appreciation of what the one can bring to the other. There is a sense of release that does not make light of that from which Honeymilk and Heavy Weather springs. Rather, it pays tribute, in the most honest and openly vulnerable way, to those who are no longer with us, whose lives can lead us to a place where, in time, we can come to appreciate our own.
Mikki Evans has been blessed with a crack team of UK Country’s finest on ‘Mr Right Now’. Not only has Tim Prottey-Joneshad a hand in its production, but Gary Quinnjoins her as both co-writer and performer. The song is a lovely duet featuring soft and subtle vocals that sparkle around a light and airy soundtrack. The touches of pop in amongst the acoustic guitar lift the romantic mood around two people who have judged each other far too quickly. “I might have got it wrong” sums up a confessional chorus in which perceptions are challenged to come to a new understanding of what this relationship actually means. There is a dawning on both that “you got me to believe that I am enough” – a sign of real love, in which steadfast commitment becomes the measure by which ‘Mr Right’ is judged. Mikki Evans has found the musical equivalent in a growing partnership with Gary Quinn that sees her music going from strength to strength. Here, Prottey-Jones just adds a little bit of extra magic.
In ‘Goldilocks’, the new single from Nia Nicholls, three bears are the least of her worries. Instead, taking the dialectical tension at the heart of the well-known fairytale, and subverting it in the context of a relationship, she highlights a man as the cause of her troubles. Using her inimitable style of light-hearted country-pop, she presents the problem of perfectionism in respect of the male gaze with a delicious irony. The chorus is the epitome of this, presenting the ways in which men try to conform women to a certain image to the extent that “maybe I [should] become a contortionist”. Such subtle sarcasm is what gives the lyrics of Nia Nicholls’ songs their unique flavour. Hers is a message wrapped in dry humour and playful music which nevertheless conveys a brilliantly brutal truth. In this case, “it’s you who needs to change”. For love is not self-seeking, as the famous passage includes, but accepts us as we are.
“I think you only truly discover who you actually are, and what you actually like, once you’re alone”
– Catherine Gray
I don’t normally listen to the Word for Todaypodcast unless I’m away at something like this. It is the first time in two years that I’ve travelled up to Blackpool for the British Country Music Festival; the very first time that I’m here on my own. I have been in the shower, got dressed, and now, before venturing out to find breakfast, I am pausing for a moment to listen to the Word of God.
It is a different voice to the last episode I heard. A slightly different style too. But the same small reflection on a Bible passage which, today, happens to be from when Jesus calms the storm (Mark 4:35-41). The key phrase that sticks out as I listen is this:
“Even if you love Jesus with all your heart, you will still face storms”.
I find it encouraging to hear, particularly as the message from the faith tradition I became a Christian in conveyed, whether consciously or not, the opposite idea. As a result, I take a moment to reflect. Say a prayer for the day ahead. Then check that I have everything before heading out. Check twice that my key card is in my wallet.
I have decided to head to Greggs for a Breakfast Roll. A few minutes later I am in Pound Bakery ordering the same. I figure that, if I’m going to the former later for a lunchtime pasty, I don’t want to appear twice in one day. The staff might judge me. Instead, I walk into the latter to find that it’s cheaper anyway, justifying my change of mind in a positive way that doesn’t lead to self-criticism subsequently. I then look for somewhere innocuous to sit and eat. I don’t like to draw attention to myself. The seafront is quite busy with people already though so it proves difficult. In the end, I aim for an empty, bench-shaped piece of stone where no one is in the immediate vicinity and tuck in.
I had found, on wandering around the town centre yesterday, a café in the precinct. It was to be my first port of call for a coffee before Day 2 of the festival began. I chose it because of its transparent walls. Encased in glass, I could tell immediately if there would be enough space for me to accommodate a table inside. Thankfully, there is. I order a mocha. Ask for an apple and cinnamon muffin. I’m not sure why I sit by one of the windows but, on reflection, I consider it a mistake. My social anxiety emerges to become quite acute. Between those already sat inside, those in what is now a queue out the door, and a stream of people passing by on the other side, I feel exposed and self-conscious. I fiddle with my phone. Tap my foot on the floor.
It’s a strange thing. Later, I will kick myself for not going to Vic Allen’s merch stand straight after her set. I miss a beat and can’t bring myself to wait in the line that forms. I stand to the side and survey her collection of small, hand-painted pictures. Just as I choose one, someone picks it up to purchase. My excuse to say hello gone. Yet I will push myself to get a picture with Twinnietowards the end of the evening. I remember the last time was at C2Ca few years ago. I mention the photo. She remembers Catherine McGrath, as I do, but neither of us can bring to mind the guy who was performing with them as part of a Songwriters Round. This bit of info is a connection. Part of my problem is not knowing what to say. Which is why my ability to chat to Amy-Joafter her show will be much easier. I have met her before. We have Instagrammed each other. But my social anxiety doesn’t completely disappear.
Sat in the café, I am nervous of all that is going on around me. I expect someone to walk past and bang on the glass to scare me. I feel like the two women to the right of my eyeline are looking at me. The couple opposite commenting on my being alone. But as my unease grows, I am suddenly struck by a woman across the way. She is also on her own. Tucking into a plateful of breakfast, seemingly without a care in the world. Her presence comforts me. Makes me take a beat. And in that moment, grace starts to do its work. I am reminded that, in spite of situation, circumstance, feeling and emotion, I am nevertheless here. A few years ago, I would have been terrified to go anywhere on my own. I would never have even attempted to wander into an establishment of any kind, never mind order a drink, out of socially-anxious fear. It could have robbed me of so much and, as I sit here, there is this realisation that it still can. This is my storm.
I began reading ‘The Unexpected Joy of Being Single’ by Catherine Gray on the way here. One of the joys of travelling by train is the opportunity to spend time reading. It isn’t long before I am grateful for this particular book. Like ‘Quiet’ by Susan Cain, it affirms an aspect of my identity that society purveys as abnormal, problematic, or incomplete. “My falling apart is… because of me,” writes Gray (pg.58). “Because I still think that being single means I’m broken, I’m worthless, I’m unwanted”. Views that are shaped by the expectations of our culture. It’s this perception that doesn’t help as I sit here, on my own, as a single person, in a café surrounded by couples, families and friendship groups. It is why the presence of the woman, who now sits contentedly drinking her tea, makes such a difference. I don’t know her story. She could be married for all I know. But the fact that she is out in her own company invites me to be more comfortable in my own.
I think part of my walk with God involves trusting that he is with me in these moments. I used to believe that I should pray away my social anxiety. Today confirms to me that actually, just as one storm passes, another will surely follow. It is how we face them that matters. My singleness marks me out. It is not the “norm”. So when I step into a scenario like this one, the horrible notion of feeling different bubbles up. It sets me on edge. I want to escape. Sometimes I will, and that’s ok. I’m learning not to beat myself up when I do. But in those times when I remain, like now, I realise that not only am I pushing the boundaries of self-possibility but defying the expectation of others too. I can sit at a table for one. I can go to gigs by myself. I can undertake a solo trip. These are things that some wouldn’t even contemplate. To do them then should not be underestimated. It is another example of when the voice of anxiety hasn’t won out.
As I finish my coffee and get ready to leave, the line from one of my favourite Tenille Townes songs pops into my mind:
“I’ve been looking in the mirror / … I’ve been working on myself”.
It is a mantra that I have tried to live by these last few years. It is one which has served me well. It has made me view my singleness as a strength. An opportunity for personal growth rather than lament. Not that social anxiety gets any less or any easier to combat. It isn’t as simple as that. But I take heart that, in a short while, there will be moments when I will stand contentedly in my own company in Winter Gardens. I will enjoy the day ahead as I learn to accept myself in the context of other people. And I will feel a sense of satisfaction, looking out at the crowd in the Empress Ballroom, many of whom, for whatever reason, have brought someone else to accompany them, that I am here on my own. I have come alone. I’ve not listened to those feelings that tell me it would be better to stay at home. I have faced another storm. And in doing so, I have discovered a little more about who I actually am
Jeorgia Rose’s debut album is one of the most eagerly anticipated releases of 2024, and it doesn’t disappoint. Clearly influenced by some of the foremost females in contemporary Country Music, ‘Blooming’ combines elements from across the spectrum to create an iridescent garden of sweet-smelling songs.
The surprise of the opening title track is in its gentle illumination rather than bursting forth with colour. For those who have followed her journey over the past year, the expectation would be for something more punchier and poppy. Yet here is a very introspective form of Folk – simplicity evoking clarity as she decouples from relationships to find there her own self:
“I know you love that I was just a seed / but look I’m blooming”.
This line is the culmination of an album that explores the different facets of romance and love. Perhaps surprising then to find it at the beginning. Except, it seems to lay a pretty firm foundation from which to view the rest of the record; made up, as it is, from Jeorgia’s life experiences, and the emotions encountered along the way. These are conveyed in the various styles she utilises to give her songs both a realistic and entertaining edge.
The track which follows – ‘Heatwave’ – drives forward an assertive country-pop to press home the regret of an ex. Likewise, a mix of electric guitar and pulsating drumbeats underline the intention in ‘My Kinda Man’ for the right guy. And the sonic inclinations of ‘Let My Body’ carry into the universe a preoccupation with body consciousness. At every turn, there is evoked the styles of women as various as Taylor Swift, Kacey Musgraves, Ashley Cooke, Carly Pearce and Lindsay Ell. All are rooted in Country, as is Jeorgia Rose, but her ability to combine and confidently flit between their subtle differences is what makes her album such an enjoyable listen.
‘Undertone’ is first-rate in its humour, wryly told with a Swiftian-style vocal. ‘Anchor’ is honest and touching, with the final two chorus lines being particularly powerful:
“Are you what keeps me tethered / when storms are all around / or are you just an anchor / who’s scared to find out / how it feels to lose me?”
Meanwhile, ‘Making Lemonade’ makes clever use of wordplay and the pedal steel to search for hope amidst difficulty. And ‘What If I Did?’ channels the sharpness of the banjo into a softer pop production to create a heady blend of playful and potentially-ruinous temptation. Jeorgia Rose deftly tells her stories through this delicate balance of musical choice and lyrical intention. So whether the stereotypical country-pop of ‘Over Me’ or the return to Folk-like simplicity for ‘Confetti’, she ensures the message of her songs takes priority each time.
The result is an album which is like a well-maintained meadow of wildflowers. Songs that have grown organically out of her transition from teenager to adulthood; carefully produced to resemble a rich tapestry of colour; and blending together to form something that is ultimately rather beautiful.
We already know what Laura Evans is made of. But her latest EP firmly underlines her credentials. Through her signature combo of Blues/Rock, she creates an empowering message of confidence and self-belief. None more so than in the title track, ‘What I’m Made Of’. “When they think I’m too weak / and there’s no fight left in me / I’ll come back swinging”. Perseverance and defiance are a winning measure. ‘Heartbreaker’ and ‘Reputation’ feature them too. The latter adds a bit of noughties pop in an almost playful nod to girl power. It feels much more agentic than most songs from the era, with a fierce chorus that unapologetically states that “I defy my reputation… / I decide… / Make my own rules so I can break them”. She is definitely an artist moving forward with determination. But even as ‘Back into my Life’ brushes off any possibility of a former lover entering back onto the scene, its balladeering style in the Country Music vein reveals that Laura Evans still alludes to her past in some form. The piano version of the title track further illustrates her songwriting roots in Country even as she forges her path in the Blues. It makes ‘What I’m Made Of’ a perfect companion to what has come before. And like ‘State of Mind’, her last album, it is a record full of verve.
You can purchase ‘What I’m Made Of’, as well as other releases by Laura Evans, through her online store here.
desperatelylostcity.com 